


Diamonds Always Scatter on Asphalt

by hazzahandsome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (I guess...), ... I don't know. I still have problems tagging., Depression, Jealousy, M/M, Somewhat sexual... stuff.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 12:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazzahandsome/pseuds/hazzahandsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I love you, you know," was how Harry had begun the conversation he’d been working his way up to for who knew how long. Zayn suspected that he had wanted to do it some place more special than a dark tour bus in the middle of the night, whilst everyone else slept in their bunks, on their way to who knew where.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diamonds Always Scatter on Asphalt

"You _are_ coming, right Zayn?" Liam’s concerned tone traveled out, static-y and cautious, through his answering machine’s speakers for the third time that day. The third time in the past few hours. “Okay… well, let one of us know. I’ll call you again, tomorrow."

~~~

When Harry had kissed Zayn for the first time - the first real time, not the messing about he did with the rest of the band - it was an understatement to say that he had _not_ been expecting it. 

They hadn’t always been friends. In the beginning, they’d fought constantly - calling each other unbecoming names and irritating all those around them in the large X Factor house. But sooner rather than later, they’d worked through the issues that had come on to them with the union of One Direction (issues that weren’t even issues, when he thought back to it) and _found a way_ to become friends. They’d grew close, in a unspecific way that they weren’t with the others. It wasn’t _better_ , it just _was_.

Zayn had been mad, fed up over nothing, and tired the whole of the day. Which, if you’d been on the tours they had (which were long and drawn out to capture every chunk of change possible)- you it was a crippling combination. All of them knew each other well enough at that point in their varying relationships to know each other’s tells and each other’s buttons. Lines that were not to be crossed, whenever they had had enough in the day.

So, when the plane that they were taking to their next destination was delayed (which hadn’t even made sense, seeing as they had bought a private jet for the duration of the tour), Zayn slumped further into the hard airport seats and tried to sleep away some of the day, during the wait. It was stupid of him to expect silence, because he hadn’t reached his point yet and Louis was right there to ask him to play a game of football in the waiting room. Zayn had brushed him aside - too exhausted and actually _considerate_ of the other people in the terminal, who’d probably not of appreciated the display. But Louis continued to nag and nag, until Liam eventually registered the wearying look on his face and took his spot in the game.

They landed in East Rutherford, New Jersey a few hours later. A place Zayn knew nothing about and didn’t pretend to. A place Harry immediately opened in a Google search to learn strange and useless facts about - and proceed to rattle them off with a concerning level of interest. The main fact _Zayn_ could hear repeating over and over on a loop in his mind, was Preston informing him that East Rutherford, New Jersey had lost one of his suitcases. The one with all of his pajamas and comfy things. The good one. And Liam had looked to him again and grabbed a hold of Louis’ elbow, as the latter started to make his way over to make a joke about it - mumbling about Zayn ‘being done for the day’.

Harry sat next to him in the van, because Harry always sat next to him in the van. That was his spot. “You can borrow a pair of mine, Zayn," he had offered, whilst scrolling a new Wikipedia page. Harry didn’t like wearing clothes to bed, anyway. Which was something they had all grown accustomed to. “Henry Hook is another notable person from East Rutherford," Harry lent into his side and read off the screen - which was bright against their faces in the dark car. Zayn was sure that he had mentioned how little he cared and that the light was hurting his eyes, but Harry read onward. He hadn’t hit Zayn’s limit yet, and would definitely be the last to. “He created the crossword puzzle! I’d say that’s a cool thing to know."

"It’s _fascinating_ , Young Harold," Louis’ voice rang out from a couple of seats closer to the front and without even looking, Zayn knew Harry was scrunching his eyebrows together. 

His whole name _was not_ Harold.

The room assignments were passed out, as per usual (they were sharing instead of singles) and Zayn had found himself groaning in his dis-luck. He loved Louis more than anything, just as he loved the rest of His Boys. But, the spirited lad was not somebody Zayn’s own personality wanted to be around when he was well past spent. When Louis was tired, because he was tired - just like the rest of them, he grew deliriously slap happy and his voice pitched to a louder decibel. Louis had noted Zayn’s mood, however, and immediately handed his key card over in Harry’s direction to switch.

Because, if there was anyone he wouldn’t kill in the middle of the night, it was their curly haired friend.

"I can go find you some aspirin," Harry had started - his olive eyes heavy with worry, once Zayn silently threw his body face first to the bed and clenched his eyes tightly shut. Zayn’s answering mumble did nothing to sooth Harry’s concerns over what Tour Treatment he was going to require. Tired. He was too tired to focus or pull his body back up to change or brush his teeth, and instead crocked his head to the left to hang on the edge of the bed, so that the oxygen would flow through his nostrils and fill his lungs. And when the first signs of moisture started to form behind Zayn’s eyelids in frustration - he cursed himself to die right then and there. 

"Hey. _Hey_. You’re alright," Harry had crouched down next to the side of the bed - his knees brushing roughly against the carpeting, but he didn’t flinch. He spoke out in a soothing tone - slow churned and comforting - and let his hands run up the length of Zayn’s face, before threading them into his hair where he scratched lightly in the familiar way he did whenever Zayn fell asleep in the car. Harry had always taken care of him and he had always tried his best to return the favor. Although he didn’t do it with quite the fluidity and charm. Often coming across brute and defensive when an interviewer took an inappropriate jab that had his blood boiling. " _Shhh_ ," Harry’s hands had melded against his head. “A nights sleep will help things… and I’ll fight Paul tomorrow to give you a little extra time in the morning." A weak smile flashed through his brain - his face unmoved save a few trembles of his lip - and he had hoped Harry could see it even if he couldn’t see it. When the former’s head moved to rest against his own - breaths mixing softly in the quiet room - Zayn knew Harry had heard his Thanks.

When Harry had kissed Zayn for the first time - the first real time - Zayn’s face was slick with a few fallen tears and his head was filled with the fuzz that came with lack of sleep. Harry had let a single thumb glide over his bottom lip - and it wasn’t strange, because Harry was all about touching the other members of the band. With his own eyes closed, he hadn’t noticed his friend moving closer in. “You’re _fine_ ," Harry had whispered before placing his lips atop of Zayn’s and it was bewilderment. Strange and not close to the overly comfortable smooches they all shared between one another. But more. Harry had run his tongue along Zayn’s lip and he pressed careful and firm kisses until the tears had stopped. And when they had, he had smirked a content smirk and titled their heads at an angle to get closer. 

When Zayn had kissed Harry for the first time - he put his all into it at what had been his current knackered state, until Harry pulled back away from him. He had placed one final kiss - quick and fleeting - to him and went to pull the shoes off his feet, throw the blankets over him, and turn out the lights. Zayn had already started to drift into unconsciousness - unsure if he’d dreamt the connection. “I won’t wake you in the morning," Harry had called out quietly, before climbing into his own bed and falling asleep.

~~~

"Mate? Liam told me that he’s called you eighty times in the last couple of days. He _might_ of been exaggerating," Louis’ grim, awkward chuckle sounded over the machine. It had him mashing his face deeper into his pillow. “Can you please call him, or me, or… someone? We just want to make sure that you’re coming."

~~~

When Harry made his first real move on him - Zayn hadn’t expected it anymore than the kiss. He had found himself questioning how a person who moved and talked and understood things _so_ slowly compared to other people, had such a way of knocking him off guard.

As the weeks passed, the pair of them would pull each other off in various directions at various inappropriate times to push the other up against whatever wall was nearest (and away from the others) to slot their lips together. And without meaning to or realizing  he had grown accustomed - addicted - to Harry’s tongue gliding across his own. His friend kissed like he spoke - slow and careful and teasing, but his hands were always the opposite in that moment. Reaching up to grab at the hair attached to the base of Zayn’s neck, to pull his head closer in. Or reaching _down_ to slide nimble fingers under the hem of his shirt and pet across the skin sat over his hip.

One night - fifteen minutes before they were due to run onstage and entertain a couple thousand people - Harry had had dragged him down the hall and into an unused dressing room, to shove him onto a vacant couch and lick along the line of his throat. They had yet to change into the appropriate outfits for the show, but they had both told Caroline that they’d only be a little while and no one in the room had blinked - more than used to him and Harry wondering off in the middle of nowhere. Whenever they were wanted - everybody would know to check outside, where Zayn would be letting the soothing burn of a cigarrette slide down his throat and Harry’d be sitting quietly beside him.

They still did that for the most part and Niall or Louis or whoever, would poke their head out and tell them Lou was getting antsy to get started on hair. But, other times (which were more frequent than not) they’d break tradition to neck at eachother like it was their first time ever snogging another living being.

Harry had shoved Zayn against the back cushions of the couch and licked into his mouth with a soft and vulnerable mewl. A sound that had Zayn sighing happily everytime. He could remember Harry grinding his clothed erection down on his own, like two destroyed thirteen year olds. While the echoes of the opening act pushed through the ceiling and showering over them, like their own personal countdown clock, so they wouldn’t be late. It hadn’t been the first time that they’d nutted off in their pants to eachother.

But they’d done no more.

~~~

Niall’s voice sounded more unsure of himself than the others, “Zayn…. are ya dere?"

~~~

Harry had a certain way of calming him down - and that night in their New York City hotel room, it had him moving in a self consious way that he wasn’t used to. “You’re going to have to relax if this is the side you want to be on," Harry teased him lightheartedly - placing more soft kisses against the thin of his side. At the time, he hadn’t had that particular experience with another male - more accustomed to the birds he’d pick up when he grew antsy on tour or Perrie, whenever they happened to be in the same country. But, Harry had and on _both_ sides of the situation. So, he gave him the choice, with a far too casual smile on his face for such a conversation. “Budge up for me, babe," his voice had sounded, hushed and heavy and warm.

He hadn’t thought anything could of been more awkward and uncomfortable than having a pair of fingers - however careful and nimble they were - beginining to intrude a place he hadn’t ever thought should have something enter. For the first few minutes - which he had a feeling might of been longer than the norm (or that could of just been his mind frantically wondering if that was so) - he lay disturbed, unsure, and unhappy. Harry’s word’s of encouragement eventually took over, however, and all feelings of the situation switched around in his favor. Eventually he had found himself breathing for Harry to push forward, which he did literally - hovering above him, with exhilaration and ‘Trust Me’ evident in his eyes.

The sensation of it all overshadowed the initial pain, as Harry buried himself inside carefully inch by inch - fingers grazed softly over his left cheek. Before bottoming out and then deciding on a rhythm that would make Zayn happy and satisfied for his first time. Harry was studied and _overwhelming_ and would be every other time that they found the time - or made it - for such activities. Whether they be in the comfort of one of their hotel rooms in a world far away, the comfort of one of their own homes, or the stall of a bathroom when they became bothered and insistent while they were supposed to be working on something like a photo shoot, upcoming award show, or an impending concert.

All of it mattered and grew the bond of their friendship closer. They were happy with what they had even when they were mad, fed up over nothing, and tired from the whole of the day.

~~~

"It’s like you think this doesn’t fucking effect us!" Louis screamed over the phone. Zayn turned his head towards the end table next to his bed that held his house phone and sighed deeply over the shrill in his voice. Because, _of course_ it did. “Not talking to _any_ of us, won’t help the situation! _Are you going to come_? That’s all I want to _fucking_ know!"

~~~

The first time Harry kissed him in front of the others and claimed him as his boyfriend, was the day the elephant yawned, stretched it’s arms above his head, and stood up off of his shoulders. He hadn’t necessarily been _uncomfortable_ not letting Niall, Liam, and Louis know all about their situation. Both of them - Harry _especially_ (given the media’s affinity to him) - were known to be cautious and careful before deciding if certain relationships were important enough to be known by others. But, it did matter to Zayn, that if they _were_ to mention it in any regard that the others be okay. They wouldn’t continue if any of the boys were uncomfortable or thought that it would hurt their work.

It wasn’t long after the first time they’d slept together - maybe a few times in - when Harry walked through the door of the hotel suite that all of them were sharing. It was rare of them to book a room of that sort, but it happened on occassion. Harry had been out in whatever city they had been in, meeting with friends that he had mysteriously happened to have there. All four of them were sitting around the television playing a video game Zayn didn’t understand (and was continuously dying in, while Niall laughed loudly in the corner), when Harry plopped down next to him on the couch and used the flat of his palm to tilt his face over and kiss him square on the lips.

Zayn’s character stepped on a landmine - body parts flying - on the screen and the others turned to make fun of him, once more, when they spotted Harry sliding his tongue into his mouth. 

The room was silent apart from the sound of far away gunfire emitting itself from the speakers, but at the time he hadn’t noticed that the three had stopped playing. He also probably didn’t notice that they were even in the room (he couldn’t remember the details very well), but once Harry pulled away with a mirthful glint in his eye - he did. “What the _fuck_ are you lot doing?" Louis had asked - his voice peeking in the middle of the question, which they all found endearing even if others didn’t and it could be a bit annoying at the wrong time. But Zayn didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything. And neither did Harry who lent further back into the cushions with a very HarryLovesLouisSmile that said something to their friend that none of the rest of them would ever understand (because the pair of them had their own language and woo fucking hoo).

Louis locked his and Harry’s eyes together while they had their silent conversation - his eyebrow raising whenever (Zayn supposed) he was mentally asking a question and then both of them raising when he recieved his answer. He watched Louis glance over to the other boys - Liam, who looked a little lost and Niall, who’d collapsed in on himself and was shaking from a noise-less laughter that he couldn’t seem to control. 

And they were okay.

Harry had torn his attention from Louis - who was smirking happily (actually happily) in Zayn’s direction - and tugged the controller out of his limp fingers. “You’re clearly not doing very well, babe," he let his dimples shine and reached a leg out to kick at Niall’s, who had yet to pull himself together. “I’ll take Zayn’s spot."

He had pressed play - and just like that - anything that was felt unorthodox was completely squashed away.

~~~

His mum’s voice sounded frail and sad for him, “Sweetheart? Liam called me to ask for help and then Paul called me to tell you that… Listen. You _know_ I love you, but you’ve _got_ to get out of bed… This won’t help anything."

~~~

"I love you, you know," was how Harry had begun the conversation he’d been working his way up to for who knew how long. Zayn suspected that he had wanted to do it some place more special than a dark tour bus in the middle of the night, whilst everyone else slept in their bunks, on their way to who knew where.

As per usual, Zayn hadn’t understand what he was going on about. Harry talked _a lot_ of nonsense _a lot_ of the time and for the many years they’d all known each other, he’d spoken on matters that none of them had any clue about, and didn’t really want to have. “Of _course_ I know - you love everyone who gives you cuddles. So, like… the band." The weight of Harry’s head lay settled in his lap and Zayn had let the silence cascade around him, as he looked out the window watching street lamps and billboards pointing them in the direction of the nearest strip club be passed by. Harry’s head shifted some under his fingers, before turning to the side and planting a small kiss to the inside of his clothed thigh. It had felt nice and comforting without the actual need to be comforted more than he was in that moment.

Harry had shook his head back and fowrth, softly knocking briefly against each of his thighs. “No… _in_ love with you… it’s different and _romantic_."

"Three days ago - like, _ten_ minutes before we had to do that group livestream - you pulled me into the bathroom, bent over the sink, and told me to fuck you, because you 'Just needed it, already'. Yes, you’re _very_ romantic," Zayn had responded without pulling his focus away from the fluorescence flashing by. His voice was hushed in the small space - careful to not wake any of their friends - and his fingers slid through and tugged without intent and the set of curls in his lap. He let a puff of air escape his throat in a quiet laugh, “The comments said you looked _proper_ ruined."

“ _Heeyy_ , that _was_ romantic!" Harry had lifted his head up off Zayn’s lap and turned to face him forwardly. “Besides, half of those people probably thought _Louis_ ‘proper ruined’ me… And by the way - I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for awhile now, so _stop_ ruining it for me."

"I’m sorry." As long as Zayn had known him - Harry had been gangly tall looking and warm ( _physically_ warm to the touch) and all soft rounded edges, attached to a head with wild hair, a wide innocent smile, and a remarkably dirty mind for such a face. It was endearing and frustrating all at the same time to get to be around him on a regular basis - especially in the way he got to be. Zayn could open a million books and there’d be a character just like him. A face set to the side, because they were a bright sort-of attractive but, un-imposing and not necessarily interested in being the leading man. It was different in real life - and for good reason. Those qualities made people like him _more_ \- and Zayn would have to tip his head down to the floor whenever someone screamed out how much they cared for him. And they didn’t even know _half_ of what a good person he was.

Zayn had reached out to gently pull Harry into him and after the simplest of simple kisses, he hummed, “I love you, too."

It was one of Harry’s best smiles.

~~~

"Zayn? Are ya go’n ta go?" he heard Niall’s voice clean, as crystal echo off of the walls around him. This wasn’t a message on his answering machine. He couldn’t turn away from the sound and have it magically disappear, but he tried despite all of that. 

His body was already facing in the opposite direction when Niall pushed his door open, so he clenched his eyes shut as tightly as he could and wished for it all to go away. A merciful short silence and then the edge of the bed dipped with Niall’s weight, as he kicked his shoes off and scooted his way in closer towards Zayn’s body - which was curled in around itself. He let Niall throw an arm around his side and bury the whole of his face into his back, because he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t alone. “Ya need ta call Liam," Niall’s voice attempted to push through the muffling of fabric trapped beside his mouth. “Or Louis… Ya know Louis - he reall’a wants ta talk wit ya… I can pull ya someth’n out ta wear."

Zayn let the statements hang in the air for a few moments, because he didn’t want to talk to any of them, but at the same time - he was grateful to see a familiar face that wasn’t in his dreams. He let his head fall softly down in what was supposed to be a nod but didn’t exactly work out. Niall understood anyway, mimicked the movement, and dragged himself off of the sheets, while Zayn pulled himself deeper under.

~~~

The first time Zayn had openly shown his jealousy over what he had with Harry… he hated himself for it. 

Everyday all day, screaming girls called out Harry’s name (well all of their names) and grabbed for his arms, hands, and other important areas that shouldn’t be touched by those who did’t personally know him. But, in all of their travels and in all of the people they’d seen and met - he’d never had an actual problem with any of it, because that was just their world. And there was something special about being with the person that everybody else wanted to be with, as well - even if they hadn’t had a clue that he was taken by somebody else. Their friends knew about them, of course - and not just the members of One Direction and those trusted who worked with them. Zayn’s close friends from before One Direction - and all of the other’s friends who hung out with the group on a regular basis, too. Perrie, as well. Because, when Zayn had initially broke it off with her, he chose to be honest. She wasn’t a person who’d judge and she wasn’t a person who’d tell. She was just another person that he cared a lot for - and if she had said she wasn’t surprised that Harry wanted to date him, but she was somewhat surprised about him, well that was neither here nor there. It wasn’t meant as an insult, instead as an observation. 

Perrie never meant any harm. 

And of course most of Harry’s friends knew, too. He had a tight knit group of people who Zayn didn’t speak to much, but they (along with Liam, Louis, Niall, and Zayn) all already knew how unstructured Harry’s ideas of love and relationships were. That he didn’t need to not care for someone based on whatever they happened to be. His friends were older and ‘cool’ - the type of people who wanted to go out at night - all night - and drink and dance to strange techno music that made Zayn’s ears hurt. But, they were Harry’s friends and he always looked so happy around them.

And then there was Nick. 

Anybody with a sound mind and a working pair of eyes could see the way Harry’s best friend doted on him - and it wasn’t any sort-of surprise, because Harry was lovely and sweet and funny and attractive and just looking at him you could tell he was strong and the best sort-of overwhelming, both in casual hugs and love and (what Nick probably _most_ wanted to experience) in bed. Nick Grimshaw wanted to know what all of that was like. He wanted Harry to be sweet and lovely to him in the way one was with their better half and Zayn had watched Nick’s eyes travel along Harry’s body on far too many occasions, so obviously wondering what that final bit would be like. “And he’ll _never_ fucking know."

"You’re being over-dramatic, Zayn," Harry had sighed - thoroughly done with the conversation that they’d been having for who knew how long. He was never one to argue with anyone, especially when it came to his friends. And Zayn wasn’t one to judge someone’s friends.

But, as the time went by that he was with Harry - his feelings for him had flourished in the ways it did for the people in his books. In his mind, no one was in love with someone greater. Harry was _it_ \- the pinnacle - the one all others were jealous of. And no - Zayn was not blind of how pathetic he sounded. He was well aware.

But, Nick Grimshaw wanted what he held so closely to him. Nick Grimshaw wanted Harry to throw aside all their work, hurt, and tireless effort that it took for them to be together in the first place - in a world where it was taboo for two members of a world wide boy band to want to snog each other. “Nick doesn’t like me like that," Harry had continued under his breath, deciding to not try very hard to speak over Zayn who had been on a tangent, at the time.

The worst part, was that it hadn’t been the first time that Zayn had mentioned his dislike and forever distrust of Nick’s intentions. And despite the forlorn look he had come to recognize Harry adopting whenever the subject came up - he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Come _on_ , Haz! Ya know that’s not fucking true!"

Harry had shook his head, mad, fed up with the nothingness that Zayn was spewing on about, and tired from the whole of the conversation.

~~~

Niall shoved Zayn’s hands through the arm holes and shrugged it up his shoulders, as best he could without Zayn’s actual help. A few minutes prior he’d suggested a shave, but Zayn wasn’t holding onto a full grown beard, or anything - just a bit of stubble that might not be appropriate for such an occasion. But Zayn didn’t care and if anyone else did they could go fuck themselves. That fact that he was even going to be leaving his home (which was filled with Harry’s things, because he didn’t like staying in his own house by himself) should be enough for them. Especially, when his long term goals were to sink into his mattress for the rest of his life and cry until he died.

~~~

The first time Nick Grimshaw’s phone number had popped up on the screen of his cell - Zayn had rolled his eyes and ignored the call. 

~~~

He and Harry had been together for coming up on three years, which was three years of Harry being as Harry, with him. They were much the same in their upped relationship status, as they were long before anything had happened between them, which was one of the things that Zayn loved the most.

The were best friends who loved each other - who were in love.

Harry would talk about obscure TV shows that Zayn had never heard of before - and would somehow convince him to marathon through it with him. And even if Zayn found himself in utter despair during the whole of the program, Harry’s head lent up against his shoulder would more than make up for it (besides Zayn was a homebody anyway and didn’t mind staying inside). Zayn would drag him to concerts of artists Harry wasn’t very interested in and they would leave with Harry babbling on about how amazing the second set was.

~~~

Zayn hadn’t ever truly _hated_ Nick. The lad was entertaining enough and if he ever did have to drag his body out of bed at a ridiculous hour for something work related - Nick’s was the voice that’d be playing over the radio of the van. Because, Harry liked to support his friends and wouldn’t change the channel to something they’d all like a bit better, until the ‘Nick Grimshaw Three Strike’ rule was carried out and he had no choice. It was when Nick would start to use his precious moments of speaking to the nation on the prestigious Breakfast Show to talk about taking his dog for a walk, or the nice piece of toast he’d had for breakfast - that they’d all pull rank and tell their friend that Nick was done for the day.

Any party that was thrown for Harry or by Harry, would have had both of them there - avoiding eachother by habit and if made contact, awkwardly standing about until an out was found.

Zayn didn’t like Nick drunk, because a drunk Nick became hands-y and self-deprecating all at the same time. He’d whine charmingly about the Breakfast Show’s numbers that week and wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders, which pulled on Harry’s heartstrings like the trap it was - tugging him about whatever club they’d happened to be in at the time and hugging him close with one arm in an overly friendly manner. Which was _definitely_ not allowed. He had no problem with anyone else doing it, just Nick. And once - just once - Zayn had wanted Harry to set aside whatever dumb thing the pair of them had planned to do (which he knew was ridiculous, because Harry pretty evenly spread out his time with everyone he cared about - Zayn getting extra for obvious reasons) and spend time with him, instead. It didn’t make any sense and Zayn knew it didn’t make any sense. But DrunkNickGrimshaw was the Nick Grimshaw he feared the most around Harry and Zayn hadn’t been in the mood to feel bad about himself that night.

But of course, Harry had smiled That Smile and lent forward to bury his nose in the crook of Zayn’s neck. “Okay," his warm breath had grazed Zayn’s in a practiced way. “Maybe Nick wouldn’t _mind_ us getting our freak on - I mean look at me!" his throat chuckled, but Zayn found nothing funny. Really found nothing funny, because ‘Getting our freak on’… _really_? “But it’s not going to happen, because I wouldn’t do that to you."

Zayn had done his best to nod, because he wasn’t sure where along the line he had turned into such an insecure mess. Harry had told him once - when Zayn had mentioned it in passing - that he wasn’t a mess, he just cared very deeply about making sure that through all of the disastrous media (where Harry was still fucking anything that walked and Zayn was cheating on whatever girlfriend he had then), their relationship stayed strong. That it was a good thing, even if was acting like a twat. “I know," was all he said, before sighing as Harry slotted his own lips over Zayn’s and sealing it with his signature quick peck at the end. 

"I’ll be back in a bit," Harry’s voice spoke lowly and lush with love. "…I promise, you’ll have no reason to kill Nick."

~~~

Zayn watched people file in - familiar faces and distant faces and none he cared of, except for His Boys.

~~~

The first time Nick Grimshaw’s phone number had popped up on the screen of his cell - Zayn had rolled his eyes and ignored the call.

He and Harry had been out for who knew how long, and if he really wanted to know what a ‘banging’ time they had had - he could just turn on his computer the next morning and look at all of the paparazzi pictures of the two drunk fools stumbling out of a club.

Ten minutes later, his phone had rung again - Nick’s number flashing across the screen and he repeated his earlier action.

~~~

Zayn kept his eyes trained on the grey carpet below him and the back of Niall’s shoes, as he walked begrudgingly behind his friend. The made their way along the row, until they approached the rest of the boys sitting beside each other and clutching tan pamphlets with fancy black writings. Zayn’s eyes flicked quickly away from them - the clenching in his heart un-abling him to look in Harry’s direction (or Nick’s - who was watching him from the other side of the room). Louis looked sullenly between the pair of them and cast his own eyes down towards the ground.

~~~

Louis’ sudden phone calls had started to overtake Nick’s - who were later joined by Liam’s, as well. Zayn hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone that night. He wasn’t still upset over Harry leaving to a party consisting of strange music that you couldn’t really dance to and grainy photos which were probably posted to Instagram three seconds later. But, he was tired from a day of a row of single interviews and hurriedly making his way into the studio to record his pieces for the newest track to their sixth album. Finally - twelve unanswered calls later - Zayn had ripped his phone off of the coffee table a groaned scratchily into the receiver, “Louis, what the fuck do you want?! It’s, like, three in the morning."

"Zayn, I’ve called you twelve times!" Louis’ voice had held a certain serious that Zayn hadn’t picked up on, right away. 

"Alright, alright. I’m here what do you want?"

The pause that held over the line clouded the spaces of his mind, as he waited for the response he was to receive. Louis sucked in a shaky breath - and Zayn could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose, “Zayn… it’s Nick.. and Harry."

~~~

His main goal for public appearances, was simply to not cry. Zayn had been at home for a week and he’d stayed in bed for nearly that amount of time, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d created that rule. Somewhere he had decided that if he was to _ever_ drag himself out from underneath his covers, that was of top priority - to not fall apart where people could take his picture. He cursed himself at the feeling welling up in the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want painstakingly done graphics splattering all over Tumblr of his sad face. Poor Zayn. Poor sad Zayn. 

And Harry looked calm, too calm for the hurt he’d unintentionally caused.

~~~

Diamonds always scatter on asphalt and Zayn was a fool, himself, to believe any different.

That was the only thought of his repeating over and over inside of his head, as he started down the white hallways - looking for familiar faces. 

The first face he saw was Louis’ - small and weak - beside Paul, who was stood over a chart looking lost.

~~~

Niall wrapped an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and tried to wordlessly help, but there wasn’t much that he could do - and Zayn didn’t think there was much to do to make Niall feel better, either.

~~~

Zayn shoved the thick door open - not bothering to keep the noise down - to see a bruised and battered Nick Grimshaw laying in an ugly hospital gown, with one arm wrapped up in a cast. He had watched the man slowly crane his head in the correct direction. There were _tears_ in his eyes, as if he had a right to be upset. As if he mattered more to Harry than Zayn did. Than Liam did. Than Niall. Than Louis. Than _Anne_ , who was making her way to London with the other members of Harry’s family.

He had past the wreck on his way to the hospital - speeding despite what had just happened. Glass from the windows of the three cars involved, spread down a distance of the road. There was something… beautiful about the way the shards shined against the light, sparkling like the stars in the sky above. But that strange beauty was stunted by the giant red smear painted across the ground.

Nick was the one who’d _pushed_ Harry into the passenger seat of Harry’s Audi. _He_ was the one who sat down behind the wheel - pissed off his ass. And _he_ was the one who’d swerved into the on-coming traffic, slamming into another car - slamming into another, and eventually impaling onto a side partition.

"Zayn-" Nick’s voice cracked and his eyes swelled up further.

But Zayn didn’t want to deal with any of it, so he fixed the Radio host with a final look and walked right back out the door.

~~~

It was suffocating, to sit in the hard wooden seats and listen to people speak about Harry, as if they’d known him even half as well as The Boys did. It was _suffocating_ to listen to people - one by one - walk up to the podium and speak about Harry Styles. Harry Styles. And he looked so calm. Laying there… in the casket Anne had struggled to pick out. She had asked him to come with her, but…. no.

No one was speaking about Haz. No one was speaking about Harry.

In the end, it didn’t matter that ‘He was so amazingly talented’. It didn’t matter that ‘Everyone had been so proud’.

What did matter was that Harry was gone. What did matter was that he’d never be able to pull him in for another hug - warm skin making him feel like home. What did matter was that they were four of five and they would always be four of five. What did matter was that Nick had slammed Harry’s twenty two year old body into a ramp along a high way, because he was too drunk to steer. Too drunk to drive. How had the valet given them the keys to that car?

What did matter was that Harry went out in scandal - papers _still_ splashing about his elicit affairs that didn’t exist. What did matter, was that Harry was kind and loving and dotful to all he cared about - and nobody was talking about it.

A small glance down the line - and Harry could see he wasn’t the only member of One Direction letting his tears fall.

~~~

"One day, I’m just going to grab you onstage and pull you in for a big _fat_ kiss."

"Or you could pull Niall in for one, and make ‘Narry’ dreams come true."

"No," Harry smiled widely and flicked the hair out of his eyes. “It’s going to be _you_ … and then I’m going to lift the front of my shirt up to reveal a giant portrait of you tattooed on my stomach."

Zayn had laughed quietly in the dark room and ran his fingers over Harry’s bare stomach. “I don’t think there’s enough room - seeing as you’ve already plopped a huge arse _butterfly_ right in the middle."

Harry pushed himself up from his spot where he had been curled into Zayn’s side (he was little spoon that night) and fixed a scandalized look onto his face, " _Heyy_ , that is a work of art!"

That look hadn’t affected him too much, because Zayn was already drifting off to sleep - eyes heavy as lead, “Yes, it is." Harry smiled at the aggreement, satisfied, and sank back down into his spot. Zayn’s breath was just beginning to even out, as he listned to the soft unintentionally humming that Harry made whenever he was falling to sleep, happy. 

"Okay," Zayn listened to Harry yawn out the word. " _Before_ I snog you onstage… we can just hold hands or something."

Zayn had always liked the feel of Harry’s body fitted next to his - even before he took it in a sexual or loving connotation. Harry had been a master at slinking up to whoever was sad or homesick and cuddling the worries away. Or, at least doing his very best.

Harry had always been talking about it - talking about walking outside and holding hands. Or casually mentioning a date they’d gone on, whilst in an interview. His eyes would light up at the thought and Zayn would smile back, because he didn’t think Harry was lying. He knew that it was what he wanted - it was just a matter of the correct timing. It sounded nice and eventually… they would. "… Sounds good."

"Nothing’s going to stop it," Harry closed his eyes and tugged the blankets up over them. “I promise."

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Like most things I'm posting, I wrote this months and months ago.... I also have an excessive italics issue. (Also, on Tumblr and such, I'm mostly like, "Here's a thing I wrote, you can give it a go." So, haven't gotten a hang of how to warn for things that I guess I don't personally see as 'warning'. So, I'm sorry about that - if it bothered you in that regard.)


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